


Madrigal

by emmaliza



Category: Take That (Band)
Genre: (I guess?) - Freeform, 90s fic, Angst, Complicated Relationships, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Emotional Abuse, Implied/Referenced Grooming, Implied/Referenced Stalking, Injury, Jealousy, M/M, Protectiveness, hurt/comfort elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-03-13 11:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18940207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Come live with me and be my love, and we will all the pleasures prove.Jason is torn between two instincts: the part of him that wants to run away with Howard, and the part of him that just wants to run away.





	1. Chapter 1

Jason doesn't know any of these people. He likes them well enough, but he doesn't know them. Well, he likes Mark and Howard. Gary seems very serious, and Rob seems very... young. But he doesn't have anything against either of them. But in any case, none of that's the point of it all, this is a way to use his dancing skills and whatever else he has going for him, to be something other than a painter and decorator, to help his mother and many siblings out as much as they need. They all seem nice enough he can put up with them for, well, as long as this lasts.

Then there's a hand on his shoulder.

He looks up, sees heavy-lidded eyes and front teeth a millimetre further apart than the norm – maybe he's not as pretty as he ought to be, but he's beautiful, in his own way. “Howard, right?” Jason asks, curious. “Please tell me I got your name right.”

“Yeah, that's me,” Howard says with a bashful grin. “You don't remember me, huh?”

Jason is just confused by that, and Howard shakes his head. “Nah, nevermind. I didn't think you'd seen me. Just, I saw you. You know, dancing at the clubs.” He squeezes Jason's shoulder harder. “You made my lot look like shit, for the record. You were brilliant.”

If they're talking for the record, Jason still barely knows who this person is. But he's gorgeous, has muscles for days, and he tells Jay that he's special. A warmth blooms in his chest.

* * *

He and Howard get to know each other. Slowly, mind you. Of course, he's getting to know the whole lot of them, this band is gradually forming into a cohesive whole from the lot of five strangers Nigel introduced to each other. But he gets to know Howard quicker than most of them, because they have to sort out the choreography together.

It's not personal, not at first – just the two best dancers banding together, because the choreographer Nigel wanted for them wasn't up to scratch. But when Nigel, oh so reluctantly, agrees to let _something_ be outside his careful control Howard turns and grins at him, and Jason grins back. It feels like a victory, albeit a petty one.

Speaking of Nigel. Jason sighs thinking about it. He's long since started assuming their manager doesn't like him, specifically – which he could live with, if only Nigel would be subtle about it, wasn't always coming after him with snide remarks about how he can't sing, or ready to give him a lashing for the sort of thing the others get away with all the time.

Jason doesn't know why. And he doesn't want to think about it too much.

It's still frustrating, that Jason always feels like he's walking on eggshells, afraid Nigel might decide he's sick of him and kick him out – again. He's sure the others don't feel like this. It's especially frustrating when Robbie, being Robbie, always seems to want to provoke him for no reason whatsoever, and Jason knows it's hardly fair to take all this out on him but christ, the lad doesn't make things any easier.

“C'mon, Jay. We gotta get this done, else you know how Nige'll go off.”

Howard says it fondly, almost, with a smile, but Jason finds something in his easy voice – and he pushes further without even really meaning to. “He does that, doesn't he?” he asks. “Go off at us.”

Howard stops. Awkwardly, he averts his eyes. “Well, that's his job, innit? He is the manager.”

“Yeah, I know, I just...” Jason trails off with a sigh. He doesn't know what's getting to him. He's not sure if he wants to know. “...Doesn't he bother you, sometimes?”

Howard remains silent a long moment. Jason notes he doesn't immediately answer the question. “This isn't because he's gay, right?”

“What?! No.” Jason's sure that can't be it. He's been dancing in clubs since he was a teenager, he's been hit on by blokes more than a few times, he never minded – usually he just turned them down politely; once or twice he snuck in an experimental snog, because well, he's young, he can get away with it. None of that has ever bothered him, it's just Nigel who's gotten under his skin. The way he _looks_ , combined with his vicious tongue, it's just, it's just...

“He looks at me like I'm naked all the time,” Jason blurts out, and he looks toward Howard, hoping for some sort of validation. Surely, he must understand?

But Howard still won't look him in the eye. He shrugs.

“Everyone looks at me like I'm naked all the time.”

That makes Jason stop. He peers at Howard curiously. Suddenly memories come back to him of all the times Howard's wound up in next to nothing in front of the audience, 'the body of the band', shown off for all to see – Nigel's always suggesting it, and the rest of them are always agreeing, because after all, they'd rather it be Howard than them. Jason's never really thought it bothered Howard, but maybe he was wrong.

Jason realises he doesn't really know what goes through his bandmate's head.

Howard stops too, like he realises he just let out something he really shouldn't have. “I mean, I am most of the time, right?” he laughs, and nudges Jason with his shoulder, like it's all a joke. “Come on, no one comes to see our shows for all this bloody talking.”

Jason smiles and nods along, because he knows Howard's right, they have a job to do. That and, he doesn't know what else he could do in any case. But as he watches How's body move, worries grow at the back of his mind, wild and untamed.

* * *

It's their first proper concert, and Jason's head is swimming. He doesn't know what they've shot into him to fix his back, and he doesn't know if it's going to work. _Of course this would happen to me,_ he thinks with a sigh. Everyone is too busy to express much concern, but Jason tries not to take it personally. _Nige will kill me if I ruin this for everyone._

Of course there's no time for him to sit around feeling sorry for himself forever, and so he has to slot into position for the show anyway. The sting is mostly gone by now, he should be alright, at least for tonight. A sensible voice at the back of his mind reminds him it's a bad idea to dance if he's already injured something, he'll only make it worse and he could do some serious damage, but he doesn't feel like he has much of a choice now.

Then, moments before they're due to go on stage, he hears a sob.

“Howard?” The others just look confused, but Jason acts right away. The pain lifts from his body, and he moves with the effortless grace he's always been praised for.

Shaking, Howard is torn between trying to hide his tears and trying to move away. Jason is gentle with him, two hands finding his shoulders, steadying him. “What's wrong?” he asks.

“I can't,” Howard spits out, voice torn. “Fuck. I'm sorry, Jay, I just – I can't – they're all out there, I can't–”

“Shh, shh, it's alright. It's alright.” Jason pulls Howard into his arms, and Howard clutches at him gratefully. Truth be told, Jason still doesn't fully understand what's wrong. Howard's usual shyness, he supposes. But that doesn't matter. What matters is helping him. “You're going to be just fine.” He runs his fingers through Howard's curls soothingly. “I've got you. You're going to be fine.”

Leaning in to Jason's shoulder, Howard gradually recovers his wits. He pulls back with a small smile, though his eyes are still bloodshot. “I'm not getting out of it, then?”

Jason smiles back. “I need you up there with me, Dougie. The dancers at the back.” He whispers that last part so the others won't hear. The first part though, that's just the truth. He needs Howard with him. His back twinges.

Howard nods, resigned, and leans his brow against Jason's own. If they're getting a little close, well, that's hardly unusual in their band.

They sneak in one last hug before they part, and Jason takes comfort in how tightly Howard's arms wrap around his back. Howard grasps him like he's strong, and that makes Jason feel stronger.

 


	2. Chapter 2

He's in a blonde wig and dress, but that's alright. He don't mind. He's had to wear much more embarrassing things than this on stage – indeed, a dress over his own jeans is, by their standards at least, downright conservative.

Doesn't mean Howard's going to stop taking the piss out of him though. “Evening, Miss Newton-John,” he drawls as Jason sneaks out of the dressing room. But Jason doesn't mind that either. Howard, who is at heart shy and sweet, when he wants to take the piss, Jason just wants to let him. It gets on his tits when Rob does it, because Rob never knows when to leave well enough alone, but never with Howard.

Of course, part of it might be that Howard's form of taking the piss out of him involves putting his hands all over him. Just maybe.

He's spun around in the middle of a backstage corridor, and laughs as he collides with Howard's neck. Demurely, he bows his head to make himself seem shorter than he really is. “What was that for, then?” he asks.

Howard shrugs, casually grabbing his shoulders. “Better get some practice in, right?”

Jason cocks his head to the side curiously. They're on stage in an hour or two, it might be a bit late for that. “Don't think I'm doing good enough then?”

“What? No, 'course not.” Jason didn't think so. He is meant to be the best dancer – he's not quite as naturally flexible as Howard, but still. He knows he's being arrogant, but it's something to cling to, sometimes. “But you know, can't hurt.” He looks up and down Jason's body. “Shame they still got you in your jeans though. You've got lovely legs, might as well show 'em off.”

Jason chuckles, comfortable in his arms. “Don't worry, Mr. Travolta. Talk me 'round, you might just get 'em off.”

Howard grins at him, and then, quick as a flash, averts his eyes bashfully. He's like that sometimes. Jason, quietly enough he hopes Howard won't hear him, sighs.

He and Howard kid about a lot, on stage and off, but it is all just kidding. Somehow he is aware that it would all be very bad if any of it were more than kidding.

* * *

Howard turns up late for rehearsals one time, but he gets away with it. Howard gets away with things better than any of them other than Gary, but Jason doesn't want to waste time resenting him for it. It's not Howard's fault. It just is. He manages to poke his head in just as they're getting a five minute break, the others having followed Nige to the tiny kitchenette for a coffee, while Jason is still practicing in the mirror. And so Jason, after hugging Howard hello, has time to glance out the window. He frowns at what he sees.

“How, mate, what happened to your car?”

There's a long, ominous scratch embedded in the red paint of the car. Jason knows he's overreacting, but he can't help but think how much it looks like a stabwound.

Howard averts his eyes nervously. “Ah, nothing.” He's not a great liar, their Dougie, and so that does little to soothe Jason's nerves.

“Howard?”

He sighs heavily, arms wrapped around himself. Whatever this is, Jason can tell it's getting to him. “There's this girl,” he mutters. “She's been following me about.”

It takes a second for those words to sink in.

“There's _what_?”

Howard immediately looks like he regrets saying anything. “Nevermind. Forget it, Jay, it doesn't matter.”

“What, of _course_ it matters,” he says, rounding on Howard without really thinking it through. “There's somebody stalking you!”

“It's not like that!” Howard insists. “It's just some fan, okay, she's probably all of fifteen, she'll get bored in a couple of months, I'll be fine – I'm safe, Jay, really–”

Howard's big blue eyes go wide and fearful as he speaks, shrinking even further into himself as Jason comes closer to him. It makes Jay stop. _Which of us are you trying to convince, Dougie?_ But he knows he can't panic like that, he has to stay calm, he has to be reasonable. Howard needs him.

“That not okay, though,” he says, standing dead still, giving Howard all the room he needs. “We ought to–”

What? Call the police? _Help, I know a boy band member who's being chased about by a teenage girl._ He knows they'd just laugh at him. He might as well try reporting the pope for failing to comply with the C of E.

Before he gets the chance to work out his answer, the others come back in. “Ah, Howard, you've deigned to join us,” Nigel says snidely, to which Howard mumbles apologetically, but that's it. There's none of the simmering rage there is whenever Jason or Rob shows up late. Gary immediately puts an arm around Howard and starts chatting, and maybe that's why.

Howard shoots him a plaintive look, a silent _please don't tell anyone_. Jason won't; he wouldn't do that to him.

He feels bad for this, but he kind of wishes Howard hadn't told him either. Because now he's going to be scared and guilty about something he knows he can't do anything about.

* * *

Howard is writing a song. That's not a secret, exactly, but it's not something they talk about either. Howard is working with all the people they usually do, the same other songwriters and producers, to make his own song, but the whole rest of the band is quietly ignoring the fact it's happening. That's pointless and stupid, but Jason knows they're acting like this for one distinct reason:

Gaz isn't happy.

He's not said as much aloud, because he more than anyone is pretending it's just not happening, and Howard knows better than to mention it, to push things. They're just the same as ever, Gary all too eager to show off the new album as it's made and Howard drinking it all in, with no expectation that Gary owes him any of the same curiosity.

That's what bothers Jason the most, the fact Howard isn't even mad about it. He seems to think Gaz has every right to be such a dick about this.

He doesn't see why Gaz should be so petty anyway. He's been the star of their band since the beginning, is Howard writing one song really such a threat? He's never known Gary to be so jealous. Or insecure.

(Still, it causes a twinge of sympathy when Nige comes up to them and tells everyone they have to reshoot the album cover because Gary's too fat. Gaz can usually avoid the worst of Nigel being Nigel, but not always.)

Jason has his head in a book, sat across the room from Gaz and Howard chatting by the hot water machine, and he doesn't want to eavesdrop, but he can't help himself. It's not like they're talking about anything that special, Gary is yammering on about mixing pedals, again, and Howard's just smiling indulgently, with the occasional sarcastic yawn thrown in – Gary just punches his arm good-naturedly at that, and Jason realises there is no reason any of this should tie such a knot in his stomach.

Out of nowhere, Rob comes and perches next to him on the arm of the sofa. “So,” he announces cheerily. “How long they been standing there blathering, then?”

Jason shrugs, flipping a page of his book. “Awhile. I didn't time them.” It's been at least half an hour though, he thinks.

Robbie pulls a face. “Gaz'd never spend that long talking to me.”

Jason peers up curiously. He could swear Rob almost sounds wistful. “Gaz doesn't spend that much time on anybody. He's very busy.” It's strange – he's been annoyed with Gaz for weeks if not months (or for that matter, years), but as soon as Rob comes in, he instinctively wants to defend him. He doesn't know why. “I thought you and Markie were happy being the two amigos anyway?”

“Yeah, but...” Robbie trails off, shakes his head. “Whatever. Hey, you reckon Howard's dared mention that song of his yet?”

_Bloody hell Rob._ Jason can't quite repress a wince. Maybe that's stupid, but Rob's the only one to mention it aloud in ages. He doesn't answer the question, and so Rob just carries on.

“Nah, didn't think so. You know, I could write a song myself.” That may well be true. Jason sees no reason it shouldn't be. But he isn't sure how it's relevant. “Gaz wouldn't help me out though, would he? If he's not going to help out Howard, he's not going to help out anybody. Howard's always been his favourite. Dunno why.”

_For the love of god, would you shut up?_ Gary and Howard are right across the room, and Rob's not quiet – they could easily overhear, if Gaz ever gets sick of listening to himself speak. He knows Rob likes to party – they all like to party – but it's only two in the afternoon, he's not already started drinking, has he?

It's a good question, though. Howard has always been Gary's favourite, and Gary is in a position to play favourites. Howard gets the least of Nigel after Gaz, and Jason's always wondered if that's because he, unlike the rest of them, is under Gary's protection.

(Gary and Nigel have only been closer than ever in recent months, and sometimes it bothers Jason, the way Gaz trails after him like a motherless duckling. He hates the way Nigel looks at him, but every once in awhile he wonders if Nige doesn't look at Gaz the same way.)

“I suppose it's 'cause he doesn't talk back, you know?” says Rob, finally dropping down to a whisper. “He'll sneak out and writing an album track, but he won't tell Gaz about it, most make him deal with not being the most special for once.” Jason swallows hard. _He's got a point._ That's what so irritating. He knows Rob's right, but the fact he's saying all that aloud is fucking terrifying.

Rob shrugs. “Or maybe he just wants to suck his dick. Who knows.”

The knot in Jason's stomach snaps. “So what?” he hisses, which isn't like him at all. He thought he was the type to overthink and overtalk everything. “Why does this bother you?”

And Rob raises an eyebrow at him. “Why does it bother you?”

_Shit. Walked into that one, didn't I?_

Jason hesitates, uncharacteristically struck dumb, and then drops his eyes back to his book. “It doesn't bother me,” he mutters, but he knows he's lying. From the dismissive snort he makes, Rob knows he's lying too.

Before they can carry on arguing, a voice calls out across the room: “Oi! What are you two mother hens gossiping about then?” Howard shouts at them in such a cheery voice that Jason knows he didn't hear a bloody word.

Rob instantaneously snaps back to cheeky chappie mode, grinning as he yells back: “Your dick!”

Howard laughs as Rob gets up and joins them by the machine. “Yeah, thought so. Hope the reviews are good.”

Robbie's eyes sparkle, as he immediately launches into a suspicious amount of detail. Jason looks up to see Gaz go bright red, and Howard simultaneously embarrassed, and pissing himself laughing.

Gary sees him, and gives him an amused glance – despite his mortification, he's entertained by Robbie the Joker. It's hard not to be. Jason tries to smile at him back, but deep down, all he feels is deeply on edge.

* * *

They're on stage, and Jason is in the middle of a tricky move. He did double-check Rob was sober before they came on, he would have simply refused to do it otherwise (he thinks), so he doesn't have to worry about that at least – but it's still a risk. Much of choreography is, backflips more than most.

Later on, Jason will realise it's irrational to blame himself for being so focused on himself in the moment – but he barely sees it coming. He sees the fleeting panic in Mark's eyes as Howard's foot slips, and then–

_Crack!_

Everything goes silent. They all stop and stare. Gary rises from his position in the middle. Hush falls over thousands of screaming teenage girls.

For a second, he thinks Howard must be dead.

It's nothing that dramatic. Soon he gets a focus on Howard's shaky breathing, and a muffled noise of pain. He looks down and sees Howard, looking just fine – apart from his finger, sticking ninety degrees from his hand.

He drops to his knees as the curtain closes in front of them. The others must all be doing something, but Jason can't even see them. Instinctively, he grabs ahold of Howard and pulls him close, resting the other man's head on his thigh. “It's alright,” he says, stroking his hair. “I've got you.”

Howard says nothing, just nods at him and leans into his body, even as he grimaces in pain. Jason holds on to him until the medic that usually has to deal with fainting girls comes rushing out, while he tries to calm his pulsing heartbeat.

_It's alright. It's just a broken finger. It's alright. He's not dead._

Yet.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey, what are you reading?”

Howard opens his door without warning, not even a knock. Jason can hardly be mad about that though – privacy is a long forgotten concept for the lot of them. He closes his book, just an inch. “What's it to ya?” he asks with a teasing smile. “I thought you didn't like it when I got all bookworm-y.”

There's a laugh, and then Howard lands on his bed with a _thud_. “Nah, I'm just jealous,” he says. “'Cause you're smarter than me.” He feels warm as Howard crawls up beside him. “Honestly, I'm a bit bored, and Gaz won't shut up about his bloody mixing pedals again. So go on, what are you learning tonight? Drinking from the fountain on knowledge?”

Jason chuckles, closing his book enough to give Howard a peek at the cover. It's an anthology of works, of a specific nature. “Poetry?” Howard asks once he can make out the title. He needles Jason's side. “You sap. I thought the whole point of being famous was we didn't have to make so much effort to get girls to sleep with us?”

“That's not the only point of poetry,” Jason snorts, ignoring the odd jealous pang he feels.

''Isn't it?” Howard leans in closer to him. “Well, go on then. What are you reading – for purposes totally other than getting some bird to shag you?”

Jason swallows the lump in his throat, opens the book again. “Come live with me, and be my love,” he says mindlessly, hardly remembering the words might have any meaning at all.

Howard stops. He frowns. “That sounds familiar,” he says. “That Shakespeare?”

Jason glances back at the book. “Not quite,” he says. “Marlowe.”

Howard wrinkles his nose, and looks up at Jason with big blue eyes, saying something like _I was close, right?_ Jason smiles. He wouldn't have known for sure without the book, if he's honest, but Doug doesn't need to know that.

“Right,” says Howard, and he curls in closer. Jason feels the a hand slide over him, resting atop his hip – when he looks down, he can see Howard's middle finger still a little bent from the time he broke it. “How's the rest of it go, then?”

Jason takes a moment to look at him. Part of him thinks this is a bad idea, that they're pushing boundaries that simply dancing or snogging on stage couldn't do, but when Howard looks at him like that – how could he say no?

“Come live with me and be my love, and we will all the pleasures prove.” He wriggles a little on the bed, trying to get comfortable, and Howard does the same. His cheek rests against Jason's belly. “That valleys, groves, hills and fields, woods or steepy mountain yields.”

Instinctively, his hand moves to Howard's hair, trying to stroke it soothingly. Of course, his fingers get caught in the dreads, and he winces, but he does try. “And we will sit upon the rocks, seeing shephards feed their flocks, by shallow rivers to whose falls, melodious birds sing madrigals.”

Howard's eyes drift closed, and Jason holds him tighter. Howard looks so peaceful, serene, and for a moment, Jason wants to keep him there forever. Fuck the band and fuck the world, he will keep Howard in his hotel room and keep reciting poetry at him until he is asleep, warm and comfortable and safe, like he deserves.

He moves his hand to Howard's shoulder. “And I will make thee beds of roses, and a thousand fragrant posies...” there's a lump in his throat. He can't keep going. _Don't be ridiculous. It's just a poem._

Slowly, Howard opens his eyes again. “Christ, Jay,” he says blearily. “All that and you look the way you do – it's not fair on the girls of the world, that.”

Jason laughs and Howard laughs with him, the tension broken. Howard doesn't bother to move, he just clings harder to Jason's body, falling asleep against him, and Jason lets him, in a new sort of agony.

* * *

Rob is gone, and Jason feels like a part of the world has been ripped away. _I didn't even like him._ And he didn't, mostly. Sometimes they got on, sometimes Rob made him laugh, but usually he was just a pain. It was Jason's bloody brilliant idea to have a bad meeting, to throw that ultimatum at him, tell him to make his mind up, stay or go – it was that or have a drunk, coke-addled Rob handling him on stage for dangerous stunts, and Jason couldn't bring himself to go through with that. He's either too smart or too selfish to kill himself just to keep the band together.

But he didn't think Rob would actually go. Well that was stupid of him. When has Rob ever missed any opportunity to do the unexpected?

As soon as Rob's gone Jason starts remembering all the little things here and there he really did like about him, and it hurts. Jason doesn't know if he has any right to feel hurt, but he does.

The others take it hard. Well, Gary doesn't – he's the same as ever, too focused on the music and his bright glittering solo career ahead of him to pay attention to anything else (and Jason knows Rob would just hate how little Gaz seems to care). Mark is a mess, but they all expected that. He keeps crying. From someone who's smile could light New York City, it's heartbreaking.

And then there's Howard.

Jason's not really sure how Howard is taking it. He's quiet, even more so than usual. He doesn't cry like Mark does, but he seems bruised by it all. Once or twice, Jason thinks he hears sobs hidden behind the noise of the shower, but he's too much of a coward to ask. Besides, he owes Howard his privacy.

For a long time they don't really believe he's gone. Mark repeats it like a mantra: “Rob'll change his mind, you know what he's like. He wouldn't really just leave us like that. He'll be back, I know it.” And Jason smiles at him and hopes he's right.

Then, a few days later, one of them brings in the paper and they learn Robbie's off partying on a boat in the south of France, with Paula Yates and George Michael.

They sit there, speechless, taking it in. Mark looks crushed. Gary looks puzzled. And Howard – Howard looks angry.

“Well,” Howard breaks the silence, “that's how much of a shit _he_ gives.”

He throws the paper aside and storms off. Jason watches him go, struck dumb, with the sinking feeling that this is all his fault.

* * *

Jason is exhausted.

They're just back home from a world tour, without Robbie, and Jason feels like he's left a part of himself in every country they've visited. This can't be all of him, right? He swears there used to be more.

He gets three weeks off over Christmas and goes back to his family, the whole bloody lot of them, listens to his little brothers talk about school and Simon jabber on about the finance industry, and out of nowhere he looks out the window and thinks _I can't do this anymore._

Turns out, he's not the only one to have that thought. As soon as they're recalled Gary sits them all down and announces: “Look, guys, the band's over.” They sit in silence for a second. “We pulled off that last tour pretty well without Rob, but come on. It's time to call it quits.”

Jason's had his issues with Gary, but at that moment, he's never loved him more.

Mark, too, lets out an enormous sigh of relief. He'd never mention it, but Jason knows having to do all this without Robbie has been torture for him. He's all too glad to go. When he chances a glance at Nigel, he wonders if their manager will be angry they've taken his cash cow away – but no. _Well, if that's what you want, I can't stop you._ Of course not. He thinks he's bet on the right horse with Gary, and the rest of them don't matter. They never did. But Jay can't bring himself to care; he just wants to get out – he wishes Gaz and Nige all the best.

Then there's Howard.

He looks dumbstruck. Like the whole world has just been ripped out from under him. “Wait, what?” he asks. “No. We were doing good, weren't we? We were having a good time. When did all this happen?”

“Dougie...” Mark whispers, squirming on the couch. He looks guilty, but Jason knows he won't change his mind.

Howard immediately starts welling up, and Jason can't take it. “Howard, don't _cry_.”

It comes out wrong. It's meant to be soothing, to reassure him, but instead it just sounds like he's snapping. Howard stares at him wounded, and Jason feels a sinking feeling again. He's always been the one Howard turns to when he cries, and now he's just fucked that up. Even Gary gives him a look like _was that really necessary?_

Howard sniffs back his tears and wipes his eyes. “Fine,” he mutters, not looking at them. “If that's what you all want – fine.”

Nigel smiles, yet again, getting what he wants. Jason wants to be relieved he's finally free – but how can he, when he knows it's breaking Howard's heart?

* * *

Turns out, they're not all that good at keeping a secret. They end up having to announce it publically much earlier than they had planned, on Rob's birthday, of all days ( _is it?_ Gary asks when the press put that to him, and Jason knows that he knows better). Jason wonders what Rob will think, if he's watching, but from what the papers tell them chances are he's too strung out on coke and booze to even notice.

They get back to their hotel, and Jason hears sobs on the other side of the wall.

Part of him doesn't want to deal with it. He wants to be free of all this, to rediscover who he was before this band wrapped him up in its web, and Howard wasn't a part of that. Why is Howard his responsibility anyway? Because they're both dancers? He never asked for that. He never asked to be Howard's port in the storm.

( _Yes you did,_ he thinks. He never asked aloud, but he knows he always wanted it.)

But no, he has to. He's almost out. And after all the years they've spent together, he owes Howard this much.

He gets up, leaves his room and enters, without even the formality of knocking. Howard, similarly, doesn't bother trying to hide his tears. He just curls in on himself further, his back to Jason, and no matter how many muscles he has, he looks so very small.

Jason shuts the door behind him, all but running to his side. “ _Howard_ ,” he says and he scoops Howard into his arms, rolls him over. Howard lets him. He buries his face in Jason's chest, while Jason holds him close and kisses his temple, running his fingers through those ugly, messy dreads as best he can. “It's okay, I've got you. It's all going to be okay.”

Howard's sobs abate after a little while, but Jason knows that doesn't actually mean everything's okay. He pulls back a little to look at Howard, his eyes red and bloodshot. Jason knows why he's crying. He's crying because they're about to split up. They're about to split up, they've just announced that to the press, and there's no going back now. And Howard still doesn't want to.

But... “Why don't you want to leave?” he asks. Howard grips his hip and he can see the finger, still slightly bent from the time he broke it on stage. He's seen everything Howard's been through over the past six years: being injured, being ignored, being stripped and treated like a sex object, being fucking stalked – Howard's been through as much as he has if not more, and he is fucking sick of it all. Why isn't Howard?

Howard takes a moment to look at him, then shrugs. “I mean, what am I without this?” he asks, with a self-deprecating grin. “Who am I without... this?”

_Oh._ Jason's heart breaks. Howard doesn't want to leave, not because being in this band has done him any less damage than the rest of them, but because he simply doesn't know how not to be. _You're better than this_ , he wants to say, but the words stall in his throat and leave him choking. He wants Howard to know how loved he is, but he doesn't know how to love him. He never has.

All of a sudden they're kissing. Jason thinks he initiated it; he doesn't imagine shy Howard would have. Howard lets him in easily, moaning into his mouth, and Jason still relishes the sounds. It's not the first time he's kissed one of his bandmates, but this is different. It always was.

Instinctively, he goes for Howard's fly, imagining what it would be like if he noticed Howard staring at him back when he used to dance at the clubs. He hooked up with blokes once or twice then, wouldn't have thought twice about it. He didn't have to answer to anyone but himself. He feels more for Howard than he has any of the girls he's slept with for the past six years anyway.

Howard pauses a second, then pushes him away. “No.”

Jason stops, puzzled, and watches as Howard sits up and faces away from him. “What's wrong?”

“I don't want it,” Howard answers, and Jason feels wounded. “Or... I do, but – it's not gonna fix anything.” He takes a deep breath. “You want to go. I don't. _Sex_ isn't gonna fix that.”

Jason pushes himself up, reaches out a hand to him. Howard jumps away. “Don't, Jay,” he says. “You're gonna help, so don't try.”

He doesn't really know what to do. He waits for Howard to turn around, to change his mind, to tell him he does want his love after all – but he doesn't. And so Jason slowly gets up, creeps back toward the door.

Before he leaves he takes one last look at Howard, watches him bury his face in his hands. Maybe he's crying, maybe he isn't. Again, Jason realises he doesn't really understand Howard. He wishes he could have done.

* * *

Their last public appearance is in Amsterdam, and they watch the canals from outside their hotel in the off quiet moment. Howard keeps staring into the water meaningfully, and it bothers Jason, for reasons he won't understand for years.

“How?”

Howard looks up. “What?”

And Jason doesn't know. _Run away with me,_ he thinks. He can just imagine it. Him and Howard, hand in hand, in some place no-one's ever heard of them. Getting to know each other, finally. Kissing each other and holding each other and doing all the things they could have done, had they met each other any other way. Living _their_ lives, not the ones Nige set out for them.

No, he's being stupid. The band is about to split up, what is the point of asking Howard to run away with him? Besides, how many places are there left where _no-one's_ heard of them? They've even had a hit in America, for god's sake.

“Nothing,” he says, and shakes his head. Howard looks puzzled, but shrugs and returns to gazing into the blue. Jason does the same.

* * *

They come back home, and Jason knows the second they step off this plane, that's it. Take That is no more.

He should be happy.

Gary walks off first, of course he does. Mark follows him. Howard comes in third, and Jason tails him after, feeling Nigel's eyes on him all the way he goes.

“So,” says Howard, stopping for breath in the cold Autumn air. “That's it, then?” Jason nods, and sees Howard raise an eyebrow. He's keeping up a brave face. “When will I see you again?”

“Soon,” Jason says. “I promise.” And then, in the bright blue sky where anyone could see them, he takes a step forward. He tries to kiss him.

Howard steps back before he gets anywhere near. “Jay,” he says, laughing, “we're not on stage, there's no need for that.”

Jason chuckles, like it was all a joke, and walks away.

 


End file.
